Ever The Same
by Marianna Morgan
Summary: AU Tag to 8.06 – Hurt Sam / Guilty Big Brother Dean – "I just don't want to fight about this anymore." It was the last thing Dean would remember Sam saying before it happened; before a truck ignored a stop sign and raced through the intersection, slamming into the passenger side of the Impala.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: Season 8 – Hurt Sam / Guilty Big Brother Dean – "I just don't want to fight about this anymore." It was the last thing Dean would remember Sam saying before it happened; before a truck ignored a stop sign and raced through the intersection, slamming into the passenger side of the Impala.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

**Warnings**: Spoilers for season eight and usual language.

**A/N**: Inspired by what Dean says in the promo clip for 8x06. And since today (November 5th) is my birthday, I'm allowed to start yet another new story...right? Right! :)

* * *

_You're the only thing that I can't lose...please forgive me if I'm hard on you. 'Cause I didn't mean to be mean when I said all the things I said to you. ~ Rob Thomas_

* * *

The accusation was perhaps a bit unfair.

But Dean couldn't be bothered to give a shit as he hurled it across the bench seat of the Impala, hoping the words hurt Sam as much as Sam's actions had hurt him.

"You left me to die for a girl!" Dean yelled, stomping on the Chevy's gas pedal a little too hard.

The Impala's engine irritably revved at the unaccustomed rough treatment, but Dean didn't seem to notice; the increased speed perfectly matching his increasing anger.

Because the more he thought about it, the more pissed he got...and the more determined he became that they were talking about this – _now_.

Beside him in the passenger seat, Sam shifted uncomfortably and shook his head in nonverbal denial of Dean's claim; his pinched expression conveying how much Dean's words had cut into his already raw conscience.

Dean clenched his jaw; Sam's silence only enraging him further. "Answer me!" he demanded, checking his rearview and seeing Garth still following behind as they traveled to their next hunt.

Sam said nothing.

Dean gripped the steering wheel with both hands to prevent himself from reaching over and smacking the shit out of his brother. "I deserve a fucking answer, Sam!"

"I know," Sam patiently responded and then sighed. "And no," he defended quietly, though he knew Dean was convinced otherwise; convinced he had left the lab covered in Leviathan goo and had merrily skipped off without a care to hook up with a chick and settle into the good life. "It wasn't like that."

Not at all.

"Really?" Dean challenged, sharp sarcasm in his tone as he glanced at his brother across the bench seat. "Then tell me, Sam, how was it? Because I'd _really_ like to know..."

Sam sighed again as his brother's words and tone sliced a little deeper; reminding himself that Dean always lashed out mercilessly when he had been hurt.

And Sam knew he had hurt his brother; knew how betrayed Dean felt by his actions during the past year.

But he also knew that Dean hadn't heard the entire story.

Sam hadn't told him because he didn't want to talk about it.

Not when Dean had first asked him...and not now.

His relationship with Amelia had been complicated and regrettable.

But more importantly, it was _over_ – his earlier explanation to Dean's question about there being a girl in his life summed up his feelings about her and the entire situation.

There was...and then there wasn't.

Amelia was out of his life.

Dean was back in it.

And Sam wouldn't have it any other way.

For the first time in over a year, Sam was beginning to feel like himself again now that he and his brother were together.

But Dean didn't seem to feel the same.

His big brother choosing to constantly harp on the subject of a girl that had meant nothing to Sam and on a decision Sam had regretted every day since he had made it.

Sam wished his brother would instead focus on allowing him to help Dean heal from what he had experienced in Purgatory; wished Dean would share his own secrets; wished Dean would let go of the resentment and instead work with him to rebuild their brotherly bond, which had clearly suffered during their year apart.

Because _that's_ what Sam missed the most – feeling like Dean gave a damn about him anymore.

That was what hurt even worse than Dean being gone.

Sam sighed and shifted again in the passenger seat, squirming beneath Dean's hard stare.

"Sam..." Dean growled, genuinely feeling like he would explode if his brother didn't say something; vaguely wondering if this was how John had felt whenever the kid had stalled in answering his questions.

Sam glanced at his brother, recognizing the warning tone and wondering if Dean realized he sounded just like their dad sometimes. "Dean..." he began evenly, knowing he should say something before the argument escalated any further...but then sighed because he didn't know what to say.

Explaining what had happened between him and Amelia would take more time than they currently had.

And besides, they probably shouldn't be talking about this now anyway.

Experience had taught it was never a good idea to start conversations about touchy topics before a hunt. It would only lead to distractions they couldn't afford and hard feelings they didn't need.

Dean sighed harshly as he stared out the windshield and squinted in the glare of the setting sun. "I'm waiting."

Sam twitched a smile; because John used to say that, too.

Dean arched an eyebrow, pissed that this seemed to be a joke to Sam. "Something funny?'

"No," Sam responded sincerely and shook his head, not wanting to further upset his brother. "I just..." He sighed and turned to look at Dean; his eyes pleading for understanding, for a truce in their constant arguing. "I just don't want to fight about this anymore."

It was the last thing Dean would remember Sam saying before it happened; before a truck ignored a stop sign and raced through the intersection, slamming into the passenger side of the Impala.

Dean's reaction had been instant but had been too late; his anger replaced by fear and panic as he had simultaneously stomped on the brakes and had reached for Sam.

As if he could somehow stop the Impala in time to avoid the collision.

As if he could somehow prevent his brother from being crushed as the truck plowed into the kid's side of the car.

But Dean had known his efforts were useless; that the wreck was unavoidable and that Sam's injuries would be life-threatening.

The realization of that horror had been the last thing to cross Dean's mind before everything went silent and black; the screeching tires, crunching metal, and smashing glass swept away as unconsciousness descended.

But Dean was awake now.

And everything was loud and bright as sirens blared nearby and strangers crouched beside the overturned Impala.

Flashlights shone into the front seat through the busted driver's window while the classic Chevy rested on its roof in the middle of the intersection; the impact of the speeding truck having effortlessly flipped the muscle car before the truck had continued its path to strike a nearby telephone pole and instantly kill its driver.

The medic shook his head, hoping the old Impala he was currently peering into didn't have casualties as well. "Sir..." he called to the guy sitting in the driver's seat, thankful that at least the guy was moving.

That was a good sign.

The medic waited for a response.

But Dean didn't give him one.

"Sir..." the medic called again.

And again, Dean didn't respond; his thoughts hazy as he quickly triaged himself; tasting blood when he swallowed and biting back a groan of pain as he shifted slightly behind the steering wheel; thankful that he could feel and move all of his extremities, that nothing seemed to be broken or paralyzed.

"Sir..." the medic called once more, shining his flashlight into the driver's face.

Dean didn't answer but squinted in the harsh light, his gaze lazily tracking the various cuts covering his arms and hands; knowing a piece of glass must have also sliced the side of his forehead because he could feel blood oozing down his left temple.

But Dean was pretty sure he hadn't hit his head, that the dull ache behind his eyes was only his body's reaction to the adrenaline that had flooded his system in response to the collision.

"Sir, can you hear me?" the medic persisted.

Dean ignored him, instead turning to check on his little brother who was concerningly quiet; the kid having not made a sound since his initial gasp of surprise when the truck had slammed into them.

Dean swallowed as the image of that moment replayed in his mind – his brother's body taking the brunt of impact.

"Sammy..." Dean called; afraid of what he would see when he turned his head.

The medic blinked at the sound of the driver's voice, pleased that the guy was not only moving but speaking.

That was definitely a good sign.

But who was Sammy?

The medic shifted, angling to see around the driver and frowning as his flashlight beam fell onto another guy in the passenger seat; a guy that wasn't moving and whose eyes were clearly closed.

The medic swallowed, silently offering a brief prayer that the guy – Sammy? – was only unconscious and not dead.

But the passenger side had taken the impact of the truck, so...

The medic shook his head, refusing to allow himself to pursue that train of thought. "Sir..." he called instead, refocusing on the driver and reminding himself to handle one patient at a time.

Besides, from the way the passenger side was crushed, they would have to remove the driver before they could reach this Sammy kid anyway.

The medic sighed. "Sir..."

"_Shut up..._" Dean finally growled back, annoyed by the medic's constant badgering and not interested in talking to anyone except Sam.

The medic arched an eyebrow, not sure if that response was a good sign or not. "But sir..." he replied, watching as Dean turned away from him to focus instead on the kid in the passenger seat.

Dean clenched his jaw to stop another groan of pain as he shifted to look at Sam; his entire body sore as he lay in a contorted heap on the interior of the Impala's roof.

Sam was slumped beside him, bloody and unconscious; his fingers within inches of Dean as if the kid had been reaching for his big brother.

Dean swallowed, unexpectedly touched by the implication; that even after everything, Sam would reach out to him when the kid was hurt and scared. "I'm here, Sammy..." he told his brother, grasping Sam's blood-stained fingers and squeezing them...but receiving no returned response.

Dean frowned, lacing his fingers more securely with Sam's and squeezing again – _harder_ – but still receiving nothing in return; nothing but a cold hand limply held in his grasp.

Dean shook his head as he stared at his brother. "Sammy..."

But Sam remained motionless.

Dean's heart hammered in his chest, feeling the slow creep of fear and panic at the possibility that Sam wasn't moving and wasn't responding because Sam was dead.

"_No_," Dean insisted, refusing to believe that, and wrapped his fingers around Sam's wrist; closing his eyes as he waited to feel the thrum of his brother's pulse.

But there was nothing.

Dean shook his head in further denial. "_No_," he said again, his shoulder aching as he awkwardly reached for Sam's neck. "You don't get to do this," he sharply told his brother, pressing two fingers underneath the kid's jaw. "You hear me?"

Because Dean had just gotten back from Purgatory; and although his and Sam's relationship had been strained, although he resented his brother for not looking for him and for carrying on with life like nothing had happened, Dean still loved the kid and refused to accept that Sam was dead.

Especially since their bond hadn't been restored; especially since the last conversation Dean had had with Sam had been filled with bitterness; had been marked by words spoken with the intention of hurting.

And Dean had succeeded.

He had seen it all over Sam's face.

Dean swallowed. "C'mon, Sammy..." he encouraged, pressing his fingers harder against his brother's neck; desperate to feel proof that while the kid was obviously injured, he was still alive.

Several seconds passed; the emergency vehicles continuing to blare their sirens while the medics and firemen and police officers continued to secure the accident scene and attempt to rescue the victims trapped inside the overturned Impala.

"Sam..." Dean growled and then paused as he finally felt it – the slow, thready beat of his brother's pulse thrumming beneath his fingers.

Dean smiled, sighing harshly with relief as he briefly closed his eyes; incredibly thankful for that small sign of life.

"Atta boy, Sammy..." Dean praised, opening his eyes and sliding his hand up his brother's face to brush back the kid's bangs. "New rule," he announced to an unconscious Sam, though the rule had been made before but had been forgotten over the years. "We go _together_, or we don't fucking go. You hear me?"

Because Dean had no intention of living without his brother again and he knew Sam felt the same way.

So they either died together...or they didn't die.

Dean nodded at the simple logic, his gaze sweeping over Sam's face as he continued to hold back the kid's bangs; taking in his brother's pale skin beneath the blood that streaked across Sam's forehead and cheeks along with the small cuts scattered over the kid's exposed extremities...but somehow knowing the injuries he could see were not Sam's problem.

Because those injuries were remarkably minor.

It was instead the injuries Dean _couldn't_ see.

It was the internal damage that Sam had sustained in the accident that was slowing pulling Sam deeper; precious seconds ticking by as his brother slipped into the kind of unconsciousness that people never woke from.

Dean swallowed at the sudden urgency that flared in his chest. "Hang on, Sammy..." he encouraged, once again grasping the kid's hand as he turned back to the medic who had been calling to him earlier. "Hey..."

A familiar creak echoed through the front seat of the Impala as the driver's side door was pried open by two firemen, revealing an upside down world that had gotten darker since the wreck had happened; more time having passed than Dean realized.

Dean blinked at the harsh glare of the flashing emergency lights that surrounded the scene and then focused on the medic as the man reached for him.

"No," Dean refused; wincing as he snatched his arm away from the medic's grasp. "Take my brother first."

The medic shook his head. "We have to take you first, so _then_ we can reach him," he patiently explained.

Which would make sense, since the passenger side door had been completely crushed upon impact with the truck...

Dean sighed at the news. "Fine," he reluctantly agreed. "But hurry the hell up. My brother's hurt worse."

"We know," the medic responded, his expression conveying his concern about just how badly Dean's brother was hurt.

Dean arched an eyebrow at the vaguely ominous comment and turned his attention back to Sam. "It's okay," he told his brother, aware of two other medics approaching the driver's side in preparation to move him out of the overturned Impala. "I'll see you in a minute," he promised, hating having to leave Sam alone when the kid was unconscious and injured.

But Sam didn't seem to care, making no movement or sound.

Dean sighed and squeezed his brother's hand; his fingers sliding away from Sam as the medics carefully but quickly eased him out of the Impala and onto a stretcher; several hands reaching for him as they secured him in place and began attaching various types of monitoring equipment before rolling him in the direction of a waiting ambulance.

"Stop!" Dean yelled, panicked and pissed that they were taking him away from Sam. "Stop!" he repeated, only louder, and grabbed the arm of the person closest to him. "My brother..."

"They're getting him out now," the female medic assured. "Don't worry. We'll take care of him. Just relax..."

Yeah, right.

"No," Dean growled, releasing the woman's arm and reaching instead for the straps that secured him to the stretcher.

The female medic frowned. "Don't," she admonished, attempting to prevent Dean from unstrapping himself and sitting up.

But it was useless; Dean's strength easily overpowering hers.

The stretcher stopped rolling as other medics intervened.

"Sir..." another medic called, the same guy who had initially called to Dean beside the Impala. "We need you to relax and let us do our job," he reasonably explained, motioning for a syringe.

Dean glared, knowing exactly what that syringe would contain. "I don't need sedation," he sharply informed. "I need to see my brother."

"We understand that," the medic responded patiently. "But your brother is being tended to. There's nothing you can do for him right now. So why don't you just calm down – "

" – and why don't you fuck off?" Dean interrupted harshly and shoved the medic back.

Three other medics instantly surged forward.

Dean arched an eyebrow, wondering if they had any idea what kind of trouble they were about to start.

"Dean!" a familiar voice called half-a-second before Garth came into view.

Dean blinked up at the scrawny hunter as the medics turned to look at him as well.

"Holy shit, man..." Garth uncharacteristically swore and shook his head. "I just gave my statement to the police, but I still can't believe what I saw. I mean that truck just came outta nowhere and _bam_!"

Dean narrowed his eyes at the description of the wreck. "I was there," he dryly reminded and resumed his attempt to unstrap himself from the stretcher.

"Are you okay?" Garth asked, his gaze sweeping over Dean before flickering to the Impala still resting on its roof. "How's Sam?"

"Not good," Dean answered, cutting his eyes at the two medics that halted his movements. "Which is why I need to get to him."

Garth didn't respond; his focus distracted and his expression darkening as he watched the emergency workers carefully ease an obviously unconscious Sam out of the driver's side of the Impala. "Oh, man..."

Dean felt his stomach twist at Garth's tone and expression. "What?" he asked, trying to turn from where he was still strapped to the stretcher; desperate to see his brother.

Garth shook his head, not sure what to say as he watched at least half a dozen medics swarm around Sam. "He's hurt pretty bad."

"No shit," Dean growled, no longer fucking around; snatching the straps from his chest in one motion along with the other medical equipment they had attached to him and sitting up before anyone could stop him.

"Sir!" the medic yelled, attempting to push Dean back.

Dean didn't move, narrowing his eyes as he realized Sam was being loaded into an ambulance that was different than the one he was headed toward. "Where are they taking him?" he demanded, standing up and blinking against the momentary dizziness that caused the world to tilt.

"St. Francis Trauma Center," the medic answered, even though Dean could read that for himself on the side of the other ambulance. "Your brother's injuries are more severe than yours, which is why he's going there and you're going to – "

" – whatever," Dean dismissed, having no intention of going anywhere unless he was beside Sam. "I'm going with my brother. He needs me."

"I'm sure he does," the medic agreed, glancing at Garth for help.

Garth shrugged, unwilling to tangle with Dean when he was like this; having heard about Dean's fierce protectiveness of Sam but having never actually seen it in action until now.

It was both awesome and scary...and long overdue, in Garth's opinion.

It was just too bad it had taken something like this to get Dean's head out of his ass and remind him about his priorities.

_Idjit_, Garth thought but didn't dare say it aloud; not after being snapped at by Dean earlier when he had made the same comment.

"...but you'll be no good to your brother unless we check you out first," the medic was saying when Garth blinked his attention back to the conversation. "After we make sure you're okay...after you're released from the other hospital, then you can go to St. Francis and be with your brother."

Dean snorted his opinion of the offered compromise. "Fuck that," he replied as if his expression hadn't already made that clear. "I'm going _now_," he informed bluntly and took a step forward, not getting far before he felt the prick of a needle sliding into the crook of his arm.

Dean cut his eyes accusingly at the medic who held the syringe. "What the fu – "

" – sorry," the medic apologized, though his expression didn't match the word. "But we have to check you over. I'm just doing my job."

"What about _my_ job?" Dean countered angrily, leaning against the stretcher as he felt the sedative course through his system; his gaze drifting to the other ambulance as Sam was wheeled inside; _desperate_ to be with his brother.

Because what if Sam didn't make it? What if the kid died on the way to the hospital and Dean wasn't there with him?

The possibility was too real.

"I've got it covered," Garth finally spoke up and nodded when Dean drowsily glanced at him. "I'll stay with Sam," he promised, knowing what kind of responsibility he was volunteering himself for and hoping he didn't fuck it up.

Dean glared at the suggestion of the scrawny hunter taking over his role in being there for Sam. "Garth..." he began warningly.

Garth swallowed at the implication of bodily harm if something happened to Sam on his watch but didn't allow his fear to show. "I'll take care of everything," he assured and offered a shaky smile. "Don't worry."

Dean scowled as Garth patted him on the shoulder and then jogged in the direction of the other ambulance.

There was a beat of silence.

"You see?" the medic asked pleasantly, pushing Dean back onto the stretcher and feeling no resistance as the sedative continued to do its job. "Everything's gonna be fine."

Dean snorted at the statement offered in an attempt to comfort and encourage, recognizing it as the well-meaning bullshit it was.

Because things rarely turned out fine in his and Sam's lives...especially lately.

But it was the last thing Dean remembered hearing before he reluctantly closed his eyes and unwillingly sank back into the silent darkness.

_Everything's gonna be fine._

* * *

_**TBC**_


	2. Chapter 2

The distant rhythmic beeping woke him; the annoying cadence drawing him up to the surface from where the sedatives had plunged him into compliant unconsciousness.

But though he was awake, the world was still a confusing haze; his clouded mind overwhelmed with disturbing images he was unsure whether were memories or dreams.

Dean frowned as the images continued to loop in a haunting circle.

A heated argument...a disorienting crash...a bleeding little brother lying unconscious beside him in an overturned Impala.

The memory seemed too loud, too vivid, _too real_ to be a dream.

Which meant Sam needed him.

Dean swallowed, the metallic taste of blood lingering in his dry mouth. "Sam..." he called urgently, because that was his instinct – to check on his brother.

Especially since he knew with increasing clarity that something was wrong...

Dean cleared his throat. "Sam..." he called once more, only louder, and pushed himself up on his elbows; lifting his aching head from the flat pillow to glance down the length of his own body before looking around the curtained room for his brother. "Sam..."

But Sam didn't answer.

And Sam wasn't in sight.

Dean's stomach twisted with panic. "Sammy..." he tried again.

Still nothing.

Dean sighed, collapsing on the mattress and blinking drowsily; frustrated by how detached he felt – his body exhausted and lethargic while his mind buzzed determinedly as it trudged through the sludge of lingering sedation, desperately trying to remember what had happened.

Because he had seen the minor cuts on his arms and hands just now...could feel the sting of a slightly deeper cut on his forehead...had seen the blood smeared on his jeans.

All of which supported the vague memory that he – and presumably, Sam – had been in a car accident.

But beyond that, Dean couldn't remember.

And it was pissing him off.

A few seconds passed.

Dean shifted as he lay on his back and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling; wondering where the hell he was – where the hell _Sam_ was – and why the hell his entire body throbbed like he had been hit by a freakin' truck.

Someone laughed softly as one of the pale green curtains was pulled back.

"Maybe because you _were_ hit by a freakin' truck," a voice commented, the tone slightly amused before sobering. "Or at least your car was..."

Dean blinked again at the unexpected response, realizing he must have spoken aloud, and turned to see who had entered the room.

The woman smiled down at him as she stood beside the bed, a medical chart propped in the crook of her arm as she jotted notes. "Hey, darlin'..." she greeted warmly, like they were meeting in a bar instead of a hospital. "Glad to see you're awake."

Dean stared at her.

"You were sedated when you arrived in the ER," she continued. "Which means you must've given them trouble at the scene..." She paused. "You look the type..." she told him, the comment matching her expression as more flirtatious than disapproving.

Dean ignored her invitation of being easy prey. "ER?" he asked instead.

...which would explain the curtained room, the beeping monitors in the hall, and the scrub-clad nurse standing beside him.

"Mmhmm," the nurse confirmed distractedly, still jotting her notes. "But don't worry. You're fine. No broken bones, no internal damage. Just a few various cuts you sustained from all the broken glass. But we've disinfected those, so they should heal without any problem."

Dean blinked at her.

The nurse nodded, perceiving Dean's silence as shock about escaping the wreck virtually unscathed.

"I know. It's hard to believe," she agreed. "But all of your tests and x-rays came back clean...which means you're incredibly lucky, given the type of car accident you were in." She paused, smiling. "Maybe you should go play the lottery or something with all of that luck," she teased.

Dean didn't respond.

The nurse's smile lingered anyway. "You'll be sore for a few days and will need to take it easy," she advised. "But otherwise, you should be fine. We'll discharge you soon." She paused once more, glancing at her patient. "Is there anyone we can call to come pick you up?"

Dean said nothing, his mind furiously filling in the blanks as the nurse had rambled; the final remnants of sedation immediately clearing as the realization of being in a hospital triggered another realization – that he was _not_ in the same hospital as Sam.

Because Sam hadn't been so lucky; the kid's injuries having been more severe because Sam's body had taken the brunt of impact when the truck had raced through the intersection and had slammed into the Impala.

Dean remembered it now – _all of it_ – and his reaction was instant.

"Where am I?" he demanded, sitting straight up and blinking against the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.

The nurse closed the chart she held and arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Where am I?" Dean repeated, grabbing the nurse's arm as if he could squeeze the information out of her.

The nurse frowned. "You don't know?" she asked hesitantly, concerned by the implication that her patient was suddenly disoriented to the point of not recognizing his obvious surroundings...even after she had already told him that he was in the ER.

Dean ignored her question. "_Where am I?_" he growled, tightening his grip on the nurse's arm.

The nurse winced but didn't struggle against him, reminding herself of her training – to remain calm when faced with an aggressive patient. "Sir..." she began reasonably, setting the chart on the nearby counter. "If you'll just relax..."

Dean snorted at the nurse's impossible suggestion and focused instead on the nametag clipped to the pocket of her blue scrub top; the hospital's name printed in bold letters – **HERITAGE MEMORIAL**.

Dean nodded, having his answer, and glanced again at the nurse. "The trauma center...what's it called?"

Because while Dean remembered Sam had been taken there – and that Garth had promised to go along and keep watch over the kid – he didn't remember its name.

"Saint...something...?" Dean prompted, staring at the nurse expectantly.

"Saint Francis," the nurse responded, shifting in Dean's grasp.

Dean nodded and released his hold on the nurse as he reached to disconnect the IV line from his hand.

The nurse rubbed her skin, as if she could smooth away the red mark of her patient's handprint, and narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving," Dean replied simply, sliding the IV's needle from the back of his hand and snatching off the tape that had secured the line to his arm.

The nurse shook her head at Dean's announcement. "You can't leave."

Dean snorted. "Watch me," he quipped, pushing himself to his feet and feeling incredibly thankful to still be wearing his clothes and boots.

Because although he would leave the hospital in a bare-assed gown, like he had done a few times before over the years, he did not enjoy that type of exit.

The nurse shook her head. "Sir, you can't leave until you've been discharged."

Like such a formality would matter to Dean.

It didn't.

Dean hardly glanced at the nurse as he crossed to the curtain separating the treatment room from the hallway, reaching to pull back the pale green fabric but then turning as he heard the nurse open a drawer.

She froze beneath her patient's paralyzing stare.

Dean arched an eyebrow, uncertain what the nurse was intending to pull from the drawer of syringes...but having a damn good idea. "If you sedate me again..." he growled warningly. "I'll sue _your_ ass _and _the hospital's."

The nurse blinked.

"My brother's a lawyer," Dean informed like it was true. "And a damn good one," he added, not sure why he had made either statement – except that he knew that detail would only sharpen his threat of a lawsuit...and he knew that Sam _would've been_ a damn good lawyer if he had just left the kid alone, if he had just let Sam be happy and safe at Stanford.

But it was too late for that now.

It was too late for a lot of things.

Dean sighed, feeling his chest tighten with suppressed emotion, and then refocused on the nurse still staring at him wide-eyed from across the room.

Dean held her gaze, further confirming he was _not_ fucking around, before yanking back the curtain and disappearing into the hallway.

"Coming through..." someone yelled loudly, and Dean sidestepped an approaching stretcher; glancing at a blood-covered kid as he was quickly wheeled by and loaded onto a waiting elevator, undoubtedly bound for surgery.

"Ma'am, you can't go..." a nurse told a woman trying to board the elevator as well.

"But he's my son," the woman defended.

"Yes, I know," the nurse patiently responded. "But you have to stay _here_," she ordered brusquely, pushing the struggling woman back.

"No!" the woman pleaded, lunging toward the elevator doors as they slid shut.

The woman screamed in response to being so abruptly cut off from her son; her cry utterly heartbreaking.

Dean shook his head in sympathy and then focused on the map on the opposite wall.

_Our Family of Hospitals_, it proudly proclaimed and then illustrated the happy little family scattered all over town.

Dean crossed to the map, squinting as he visually tracked the distance between Heritage Memorial and St. Francis; storing the information for his impending road trip, courtesy of whoever's car was easiest to steal.

Dean nodded at his plan, briefly rubbing the stinging cut on his forehead before turning to find to the parking lot...and smacking into the woman from earlier.

"Whoa..." Dean commented and blinked at the woman now standing beside him in the middle of the hall.

Her clothes were streaked with blood; her expression as shocked and scared as her tone as she began repeating the same three words over and over while staring at the last place she had seen her child – the elevator.

"Please don't die..._please don't die..._"

Dean swallowed, identifying with the woman's desperation – because that was always his plea whenever Sam was hurt – and glanced at the elevator doors as the woman continued to stare at them.

"They won't let him die, will they?" the woman asked, suddenly grabbing Dean's arm.

Dean winced as her fingers unintentionally dug into one of his open cuts.

"Will they?" she pressed, squeezing his arm.

Dean clenched his jaw at the pain that flared. "Lady, listen..." he began, his tone surprisingly polite and gentle as he pried her hand away.

Because while Dean had sympathy for her situation – especially since it seemed to so closely match his own crisis – he also had his own kid waiting for him at St. Francis Trauma Center.

...which meant he didn't have time to comfort this stranger currently hanging on his arm.

"_Will they?_" the woman hysterically demanded about the doctors allowing her son to die, clinging to Dean even tighter. "They can't!" she insisted, tears welling in her eyes. "They can't let him die! He's all I have..."

Dean swallowed against the emotion that swelled in his throat.

Because he knew how that felt.

"He's all I have," the woman repeated and then shook her head in denial of her world crashing down. "Oh my god..."

Dean stared at her, the urgency to reach his brother steadily increasing with the hammering of his heart.

Because Sam was all _he_ had; was the reason he kept going; was the absolute last person in the world that Dean loved.

And the last time Dean had spoken to his brother, it had been in anger; it had been with the intention to verbally wound.

And the last time he had seen the kid, Sam had been unconscious and covered in blood.

Just like this woman's kid...

Dean swallowed once more, again forcibly uncurling the woman's fingers from his arm.

Because he had to go.

He had to find Sam.

He had to see his brother.

He had to know if _his_ kid was okay.

And he had to do it _now._

"Ma'am..." Dean began, his tone harsher than before.

"Ma'am..." a nurse echoed, approaching from behind.

Dean turned, the woman following his lead, and sighed with relief at the nurse who was clearly there to rescue him from the hysterical mother still clinging to his arm.

The nurse smiled pleasantly and then redirected her attention to the woman beside Dean. "Ma'am," she said again. "I need you to come with me."

The woman stared at her but didn't move.

"Please..." the nurse added and reached for the woman's other hand; the one not holding onto Dean. "I'll take you to wait for news about your son. You'll want to be where they can find you, right?"

The woman nodded through her tears. "Yes. Of course."

"Then come with me," the nurse replied and smiled as the woman reluctantly released Dean and took her outstretched hand.

A few steps down the hall, the woman glanced over her shoulder at Dean but said nothing as the nurse continued to lead her away.

Dean watched them go, nodding his thanks to the nurse and rubbing his arm as he wiped away a trickle of blood from the cut that had taken the most abuse from the woman's tight grip.

Dean sighed, glancing again at the map on the opposite wall – double-checking the route from Heritage to St. Francis – and then turned toward the ER's exit; sidestepping a doctor too engrossed in the chart he held to watch where he was going.

"Sorry," the doctor belatedly apologized but kept walking.

Dean shook his head and did the same; crossing the chaotic waiting room and exiting through the automatic doors before pausing on the sidewalk; visually scanning the dimly lit parking lot for an easy mark...and realizing it was right in front of him.

A car parked by the curb with its keys still in the ignition and its doors unlocked; both details overlooked in the driver's rush to enter the hospital.

Hello, opportunity.

Dean twitched a smile as he nodded his appreciation.

A stranger's distracted forgetfulness becoming his stroke of luck.

"Hey, buddy..." someone barked across the parking lot.

Dean glanced in the direction of the brusque voice.

The approaching officer gestured toward the parked vehicle. "Move your car," he ordered.

Dean arched an eyebrow at the officer's assumption that since he was standing beside the car, the car was his.

"This is a no parking zone," the officer added, nodding at the sign that declared the area off limits to parked vehicles, risking fines and towing if ignored. "So, move it."

Dean glanced at the sign and then back at the officer.

"_Now_," the officer snapped. "Or I'll have to ticket you..."

Like that threat mattered to Dean...especially since this wasn't even his car.

But Dean played along, slightly amused that he was not only stealing a vehicle right in front of an officer but was doing so under the officer's command.

Sam would roll his eyes when Dean told him about it later.

If Sam was awake when Dean finally reached him...

If Sam was okay...

If Sam was even alive...

Dean swallowed at the thought, refusing to believe the last possibility that crossed his mind.

Because Sam _had_ to be alive.

Garth would've called if something had happened, right?

Not that Dean even knew where his phone currently was.

Probably in the Impala, if he had to guess...

Dean sighed, refocusing on the officer and blinking as he realized the man was much closer than before.

"Hey..." the officer yelled harshly, annoyed with what he perceived as blatant disobedience. "Did you hear me?" he asked, stomping over to Dean and then softening marginally when he realized Dean had obviously been involved in some type of accident.

Dean shifted as the officer stared at him, feeling the man's eyes taking in his cuts and the blood on his jeans.

"Look, I'm sorry for whatever you've gone through tonight," the officer allowed. "I am. But..." He gestured toward the sign. "I have a job to do."

Dean nodded.

Because so did he.

But he couldn't do his job until he was with Sam.

...which meant he needed to move his ass.

"Buddy..." the officer prompted, narrowing his eyes at Dean in concern. "Are you okay? Maybe you shouldn't be driving..."

Dean shook his head. "I'm fine," he assured, knowing his distraction had nothing to do with his own minor injuries. "I'm just worried about my brother," he confessed, also knowing such honesty would further soften the officer.

It did.

"I understand. I'm sorry," the officer replied genuinely. "I hope everything works out okay."

"Me, too," Dean agreed, crossing to the driver's side of the car he was about to steal.

"Drive safe," the officer advised.

Dean nodded, ducking inside the car that didn't belong to him and cranking its engine; feeling the officer watch as he eased the vehicle away from the curb and into the flow of traffic heading out of the hospital's complex and back to the highway.

Several miles down the road, Dean checked his rearview – snorting an amazed laugh at what had just happened – and then blinked as he suddenly realized his phone was still in the pocket of his jeans; having not noticed it until now when he felt the unmistakable pinch of the hard plastic against his leg.

"Please work..." Dean muttered as he dug the phone from his pocket; alternately glancing between the road and the glowing caller display; impressed that the phone seemed unharmed from the wreck.

Dean nodded his approval and then frowned as he noticed he had one missed call from Garth.

"Ah, shit..." Dean hissed, hating the way his stomach automatically clenched with dread and hesitation.

Because what if Garth had called to say that Sam didn't make it?

That Sam was dead?

That Sam had died thinking Dean hated him?

Then what?

Dean sighed harshly. "_Stop it_," he growled to himself as he pushed the button to activate his voicemail; pressing the phone to his ear while holding his breath.

"Please enter your password," the robotic voice annoyingly requested.

Dean did so with one hand – _0502_.

May 2nd.

Sam's birthday.

Dean smiled sadly, briefly closing his eyes. "Please be okay..." he whispered like a prayer to the silence inside the stolen car and refocused on the road as Garth's voice began to speak in his ear.

"Hey, Dean...it's Garth. Um..."

There was a pause – a _long_ pause.

Dean swallowed at the implications. "_What?_" he demanded, as if Garth could hear him.

Garth sighed on the voicemail before continuing. "Listen...Sam's hurt pretty bad, man. Worse than I thought. That truck..."

Dean could picture Garth shaking his head, undoubtedly replaying the wreck he had witnessed as he had followed behind the Impala earlier that evening.

"It crushed him pretty good. Broke his right arm...possibly fractured his right leg...and..."

Dean narrowed his eyes; dread twisting his stomach into a tighter knot at Garth's obvious stalling. "_And...?_" he sharply prompted the voicemail.

Garth sighed again. "The doctors say the impact broke most of Sam's ribs on the right side, too...which caused all kinds of damage."

Dean's grip tightened on the steering wheel, feeling his heart hammer in his chest.

"He, um..." Garth paused once more. "He's got a punctured lung, ruptured spleen, lacerated liver...I think they said something about his kidneys...I think...I'm not sure...they were saying so much."

Dean glared heatedly, pissed that Garth didn't fucking _know_.

Because this shit was serious.

Jesus...

"Anyway..." Garth's voice momentarily faded in the message. "Sam's in surgery now."

Dean nodded at the news, having expected as much.

"He's lost a lot of blood, though..._a lot..._the spleen and the liver...you know..."

Dean _did_ know...and it scared the shit out of him.

"I, um...I told Sam you were coming," Garth assured Dean in the message. "Told him you were on your way...I mean...I _hope_ you are..."

"Damn right I am," Dean commented, checking his rearview as he continued to drive the stolen car and follow the map he had memorized from the wall in the ER.

"I don't know if he heard me," Garth confided worriedly, his voice once again fading out as his phone's reception wavered. "But I told Sam you would be here when he woke up..."

Dean nodded, because that was certainly the plan.

"So...anyway..." Garth continued. "I hope you're okay...and that you get here by the time Sam's out of surgery." He paused, laughing awkwardly. "'Cause I would hate to have lied to him, you know?"

Dean _did_ know...because he hated lying to Sam, too.

And yet he had done it – over and over.

And he knew that Sam had lied to him as well.

But that shit had to stop.

Dean sighed, continuing to listen to the message and hoping Garth finished before his time ran out.

"Anyway...that's the report from here. I'll tell you more later. And oh...don't worry about the Impala. I had a friend of a friend pick her up...he's a hunter...so everything's safe and secure...and he's gonna keep her at his garage until...well, whenever."

Dean nodded, thankful for one less thing to worry about.

Especially since it sounded like Sam would need all of his attention right now...and for some time to come.

Dean sighed harshly; _hating _that his brother had been so severely injured and knowing recovery would take months.

But that was fine.

Because Sam _was_ going to recover from this.

Dean would accept no other outcome.

And then he and his brother were going to get some shit straight between them.

Starting with Dean apologizing for what he had said before the wreck...

"Okay, well...I'm probably almost out of time," Garth guessed. "So...see you soon," he told Dean before the message abruptly ended.

"Yeah..." Dean agreed, resisting the impulse to call Garth now for a new update on his brother since he knew he would see the scrawny hunter in person in just a few minutes.

Dean sighed, tucking the phone back in the pocket of his jeans as he checked his rearview and signaled to exit the highway.

"I'm coming, Sammy..." Dean whispered to his brother. "Just hang on..." he urged, willing the kid to fight through his injuries; to come out of surgery alive.

Dean clenched his jaw, his chest tight with emotion.

"Just hang on..." he repeated, pressing the gas pedal of the stolen car a little harder; eager to reach Sam and to resume the protective role he had neglected for too damn long.

* * *

_**TBC**_


End file.
